Once Upon a Time in Cuba
by Starsearcher
Summary: When Bones is sent back to Cuba to investigate a series of mass killings, Booth goes with her, and together they must fight to survive this insane mission while grappling with their own emotions and secrets from the past. BB all the way.
1. Prologue

**Once Upon a Time in Cuba**

_by_

_Starsearcher_

Rating: PG-13 to R (depending on chapter) for violence, sex, and language  
Summary: When Bones is sent back to Cuba to investigate a series of mass killings, Booth goes with her, and together they must fight to survive this insane mission while grappling with their own emotions and secrets from the past.  
Disclaimer: This is only my little dance into the world of Bones fanfiction. All characters/themes/places belong to the creators of the show. Thanks for reading.

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**Prologue:**

It had started simply enough. They had just wrapped up the latest case, a sick guy who had liked to collect fingers from little girls and decorate his apartment with them. He had killed four already, but they had saved the would-be fifth. Saved her, and brought her home to her parents, who had sobbed and hugged both of them to bits before finally letting go.

Booth could still feel Mrs. Grayson's trembling hands on his arm, the sincerity of her gratitude and relief somehow passed through her fingers and into him. It was moments like that, those little things, that made everything about the job worth it.

He sighed, glancing over at his partner's sleeping form in the corner.

_Was it really worth it?_

She had gotten the call just a few hours after the Grayson case was closed. She was needed, they had told her. There had been a new wave of killings; same place, same MO. They had needed her back in Cuba. It was a matter of national security.

So she went, but this time, she did not go alone. He had insisted upon it, especially after she had broken down and told him what had happened the last time she had come to this cursed place. He remembered every one of the tears that had tumbled down her fair cheeks, then red from the exertion of crying so hard. She had never asked for him aloud, but her iron grip on his arms had let him know that she needed him.

So he went too. And now they were stuck in this together, hiding in this tiny abandoned shack in the middle of the jungle, with God knows how many murderers out there, hunting them.

He checked his ammunition supply for the tenth time, counting every bullet he had left.

Forty-seven.

Forty-seven damn ways he could make Guzman pay for the hell that he had put them through. Forty-seven damn chances for them to make it out of this alive.

Forty-seven beautiful bringers of death that would stop them from getting to _her_.

Booth sighed, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was practically drenched in his own sweat from the heat, but his entire body was shivering. His collared white shirt, which had seemed like the perfect choice for Cuba's humid environment, was in tatters, a shade of dirty yellow splattered with black mud and streaked crimson from the still healing wounds all over his torso. The white tank underneath he had torn off and ripped in order to bind his then bleeding knuckles, and to create the makeshift bandages for her back. His left ankle was swollen to twice the size of his right, and he had a feeling from the itching of the other lump on his left foot that the insect that had bitten him had been poisonous. To top it all off, the fever was getting worse, too.

She coughed in her sleep, and he was by her side in an instant, his rough fingers trying to be soothing against her forehead. She was shaking violently, but she was still alive, and after another fit of coughing, she calmed and rolled to her side, her back to him.

The sight of the barely healed, red and purple slashes against her skin, visible through the thin white material of her own sweat-soaked shirt, made him want to retch. Guzman had done that himself, with his favorite metal tipped whip. Booth's jaw muscles clenched into tight knots. _Son-of-a-bitch._

She turned over again, restlessly, and he noticed the tiny whimper that slipped out unconsciously as her injured back rolled against the uneven dirt ground. She faced him now, her eyes closed but moving, as though even in her dreams something was chasing her, hurting her. With practiced ease he pressed his palm to her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth, careful to avoid the cut below her eye.

She was so beautiful. He didn't think he'd ever get tired of just looking at her. As her long eyelashes fluttered ever so slightly, he could not help the small smile that played on his bruised and broken lips.

Footsteps. Outside.

Booth froze, his hand instantly leaving her cheek and reaching for the gun.

Four, maybe five of them. Two to his left and three behind him.

He rose to a crouch, making sure to shield her body with his own as he mentally readied himself for what was to come. He had promised her he'd take care of her, and if this was the moment where that promise would be put to the test, he'd be damned if he let her down. As always, his finger did not tremble against the trigger, and he consciously leveled his breathing to match the steady beating of his heart. This was war, and it all felt so painfully easy, so painfully familiar.

It had started out so simply. He could not help but think back, think and wonder how in the world it had all come down to this…

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Please review! let me know how I'm doing! thanks! ) 


	2. Chapter 1: The Call

oh wow! thanks for the positive responses everyone! I'm so glad you like this -- hope this next chapter keeps you coming back for more. Enjoy!

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**Chapter One:  
The Call**

"I did _not!_"

"Did too."

"Did not!"

"Too."

"You're being completely immature, Booth."

"Oh _I'm _immature? You were the one who insisted that he come with us."

"Only because I wanted Dr. Grant's expertise on the subject."

"Bones, you _are_ the expert on the subject. You knew more than he did."

"A new perspective is always helpful, Booth."

"I think he was trying to give you more than just a new perspective, Bones."

"He was not!"

"Was too!"

"You're…ugh!"

"Right?"

"Insane!"

"But I'm still right."

"What's going on here?"

Booth and Brennan looked up as Angela walked into the office, her lips spread in a knowing grin. Brennan glared back at Booth for a moment before turning to Angela with a slight toss of her hair.

"Nothing. Booth was just being immature."

Booth opened his mouth to protest, but the shrill sound of Brennan's office phone cut him off. As Brennan hurried over to the phone, he gestured silently to Angela that the fault clearly was not his. To his slight annoyance, she merely widened her knowing grin and waggled her eyebrows at him. Giving up, Booth glanced back at Brennan, who was now sitting in her chair with her back to him. He could not make out what she was saying; her voice had dropped to almost a whisper.

"Looks like something important," said Angela, taking a step closer.

"Yeah, looks like," replied Booth. "Hey, why don't you go round up the rest of your squint squad and we'll meet you out front?"

"Okay. Oh wait – Zack had a few questions for you."

"Zack? I don't talk to Zack."

"He said it was about Iraq. Some post-action inquiry he got in the mail today. He doesn't know how to respond."

Booth sighed. Just what that kid had done in Iraq was a mystery to all of them, but he suspected that he of all people would end up being the first unfortunate person to find out. He only hoped that the kid had learned in his brief time with the army the fine art of getting to the point. Otherwise, Booth felt a burst of violence coming on.

Groaning, he nodded and followed Angela to the door, calling over his shoulder, "We'll wait for you by the entrance, Bones."

She made no response. As he walked away, he couldn't shake the ominous feeling that something was about to go wrong.

* * *

"Bones! BONES! Come on, what are you still doing here?"

Booth strolled into the office, a grin on his face as he stared at his unresponsive partner, whose head was bent over a rather thick looking file. For a moment, he was content just to watch her; she was so absorbed in whatever she was reading that she was completely oblivious to his presence, or so it seemed.

Booth knew better though. The air was always slightly charged with something whenever they were in a room together, and Brennan, he was sure, could feel it. Still, she looked for all the world as though he had not just come barging into her office yelling out her name, and that amused him.

A low growling from his stomach cut short his silent staring. He was starving, and they were late for dinner.

"Bones! Hey, Bones!" He leaned forward against her desk, snapping his fingers near her obscured face. "Come on, everyone's waiting on us."

Brennan looked up finally. Booth almost took a step back.

Her eyes were brilliant, as though she had been meaning to cry for hours but the tears had never quite managed to spill over. There was something entirely too vulnerable in her stare, reminding him of the time she had thought her brother had been killed, and how she had unraveled in his arms. But this was slightly different – there was more fear in her eyes than ever before, and Booth felt a tiny shiver up his spine as he wondered what in the world could possibly scare his Bones like this. She had faced serial killers, gang leaders, and even pain in the ass state officials with the unflinching resolve he had come to love about her; that resolve was all but gone in that moment.

"Temperance," he said gently. Somehow he felt he needed to be gentle right now. "Temperance, what is it?"

She did not answer him, but looked down again at the file on her desk. He thought he saw a splash of tears on the surface of the top page. He walked over to her side, crouching in front of her chair, and only hesitated for second before using his finger to tilt her head up to look at him.

"Bones, what's going on?"

She bit her lip, a habit he had always thought was rather adorable, but of course had never told her as such. In this instant, it felt horrible, because he knew the gesture was a sign of her nervously fighting back more tears. Finally, still without a word, she handed him the file.

Booth took it and stood, pacing around her desk as he flipped through the pages.

Cuba. A profile of someone named Juan Guzman. Then another of an Agent Samantha Lowe, killed in action. Photographs of decaying bones, arranged in a bizarre pattern on a large dirt field. Another profile of a Karl Prewett, an elderly man with deep-set blue eyes and of all things, a bowtie around his neck. Professor…Northwestern…date of death…

The file was huge. Booth guessed there were at least a few dozen profiles all clipped together in here, but for the life of him, he could not understand what this had to do with Bones. He racked his brain as he scanned the pages for more information.

He knew she had been to places like Cuba and Guatemala and more, identifying victims of genocide and doing what it was that she did that was so valuable to the US Government. But these files spoke of top-secret material, with security clearance he had never expected her to have, and that he knew for a fact he didn't. Part of him knew he would probably be in trouble just for looking at this right now, but he read on, wanting to understand.

Booth didn't know how long he stood in her office, pacing as he read, but by the time he got to the last page in the file, he thought he understood at least a little about the fear in her eyes.

"There's more to this, isn't there?" he said, waving the closed file at her. "Agent Lowe's report said she found you three days after you'd gone missing, but there's nothing in here about those three days, Bones."

"It wasn't relevant to the case," she finally spoke. Her voice was hoarse.

"What case? Bones, what happened?"

Silence. He couldn't stand it. She wanted to tell him, he could see that plainly, but something was still holding her back. So he waited, and even though he knew the other squints were probably getting more hungry and annoyed with each passing second, at the moment, he didn't care.

"I'm not allowed to talk about this," she said at last. "You don't have the clearance." She took a deep breath, and then another. "That file is incomplete. That was the copy I was given, but the actual complete file is somewhere with the CIA."

"CIA? What does the CIA have to do with this?"

"I went to Cuba for four months, Booth. I was supposed to be investigating a series of mass murders. Sam – Agent Lowe – was my liaison to the CIA."

"There's no mention of that in this file."

"I told you. It's incomplete."

"So fill me in on what's missing."

"The man who was responsible for the murders was well connected. They told me it would be impossible to take him down without incontrovertible evidence that he had ordered and done the killing. So they had me digging up mass burial sites, to find the proof they needed." She let out a cross between a sigh and a dry laugh. "They didn't tell me that the last person who had dug around there had been flayed alive and hung from a tree as a warning."

"Bones…"

"There was a reason why outsiders were so often murdered. They didn't want people to find what they had stolen. And the CIA didn't want anyone to know that they _had _stolen anything, which is why the file doesn't say anything about the real reason I was there."

"What are you talking about?"

"Weapons, Booth. Biological weapons. I discovered it within a few days of being there; all those people had been murdered by biological weapons. The rapid deterioration of their bones was a clear sign of an organic agent. I reported my findings to the State Department, and that was when the CIA stepped in. They knew already…they knew that the man responsible for the murders was accumulating a wealth of biological weapons in Cuba with the help of someone from within the US government. They wanted him hunted down so that they could use him to find the mole, and they used me to do it, but it didn't work. After everything he had done, he escaped. He disappeared for years." She shook her head at this, looking more hysterical now than before. "I thought I could forget him. And all of it. But I can't."

Booth stared helplessly at his partner. She was trying so hard not to cry, but he knew it would be useless. Making up his mind, and throwing all caution and propriety to the wind, he walked over to her and gathered her into his arms. She melted against him the moment they touched, her fingers laced behind his neck, and he felt her hot, sticky tears on his skin.

"They f-found another site," she stammered into his ear at last. "A new one. They said he's back, and they need me to go back."

"Shhh, shhhh it's okay, it's okay Bones. I'm here, I got you…I'm here."

His mind was spinning with the information she had just shared with him, the weight of what this meant still not crashing down on him fully yet. CIA involvement in anything made things more complicated. He did not have the clearance for this at all. And biological weapons? A Cuban mole in the US government? It was like he was being hit in the face over and over with each additional fact. But Booth pushed it all to the back of his mind, forcing himself to breathe evenly, to let her feel him breathing evenly and calmly so that she could calm too. All he needed to know in that moment was that Temperance Brennan, his partner and friend and a woman he was starting to care scarily too much about, was being forced to face something she had never wanted to face ever again, and that she needed him.

It was only until later, after he had wiped away her tears and dropped her off at her apartment with some Thai takeout and had said goodnight, that he realized she had never exactly told him what had happened in those three, undisclosed days in Cuba. An uneasy feeling followed him the rest of the night.

* * *

"_Bones…get up!"_

She made the tiniest groaning sound as she woke, one hand rubbing her eyes sleepily. For a moment, Booth thought she might have forgotten where they were and the situation they were in, but the sudden steel that took over her eyes a second later showed him that she was ready.

_How many_, she mouthed at him as she rose silently to a crouch. He held up his fingers. He saw her gripping the long knife she had taken off the last man who had tried to kill them, her knuckles white and blood red as they tightened around the handle.

He signaled to her to go left; she nodded her understanding, her eyes softening as they lingered on his for a moment too long. It was almost like a goodbye. He swallowed; he needed to focus.

Booth crouched by the cracked window, the gun placed gingerly on the windowsill. He could see one man outside, edging closer, but he needed to have all them in his sights before he could make a move. There was no room for mistakes.

He glanced over at Brennan, who nodded once from her position by the other cracked window and held up two fingers. _Atta girl, _he thought, marveling at the pride swelling in his chest as he looked at her. _Keep your eye on them._

He turned his attention outside again. Another shadow, fifteen feet behind the first.

_That's two and two…but where's the fifth?_

A sudden scraping sound came from above.

Eyes widening, Booth acted.

He fired two quick shots out the window, hitting the man closest to the shack. The one behind him came running forward, shouting now that the element of surprise was lost. Instantly, Booth slid across the floor over to Brennan's window, and with her direction, fired two more shots into the dark. He heard another body fall, but only one, and then a wave of gunfire ripped into the shack above their heads.

"Down!" he yelled, taking her with him as they flung their bodies to the ground. Wood and dirt crashed onto their bodies as another wave of bullets came from the other direction. On his stomach, Booth inched his way back to the window, gun in hand, with Brennan at his heels.

Forty-three bullets left.

Another burst of gunfire pierced through the walls. In his head, Booth began to pray.

Then the roof fell in.

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Thanks for reading! 


	3. Chapter 2: Just Work

A/N: Oh my gosh, I'm floored by the positive response to this story! Thanks for the reviews and for reading! Also, this chapter's a little less intense than the previous ones, but that just adds to the buildup of suspense, right? Enjoy!

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**Chapter Two:  
Just Work  
**

"Sweetie…you _need_ to tell me what's going on!"

"Not now Angela."

"You're going to Cuba, for two weeks, _with Booth_. Come on Brennan! Spill!"

Brennan sighed as Angela plopped herself down on her bed, right in the middle of her packing. Angela's eyes were alight with a mischievous glint that said plainly, _I'm not taking no for an answer._

"It's just for work, Ange," Brennan repeated for the fourth time since this little interrogation had started. Her annoyance was starting to show in her voice, something she had wanted to hide for Angela's sake, but as usual, her best friend's inquisitive nature and not-so-subtle hints regarding her partner were taking their toll on Brennan's patience, however well-meaning she knew Angela's comments were.

She busied herself with folding her favorite white shirt over again, smoothing the front down as she worked around Angela, who was still giving her that knowing look. Brennan did her best to ignore her, but Angela was persistent. Then, after a few more minutes of silent staring, Angela suddenly hopped off the bed and walked to Brennan's bureau, opening the top drawer and rifling through its contents.

"What are you-?" Brennan began, and then froze when Angela lifted up the items of clothing she had found. "Angela, no!"

"What? Sweetie, you bought these for a reason."

"Actually _you_ gave them to me."

"Oh yeah." Angela laughed, tossing the black lace bra and panty set into the open suitcase. "What can I say? I have good taste."

Brennan pulled the underwear out quickly and bunched them in her hand. She then walked back to the bureau and stuffed them unceremoniously back into the top drawer.

"Oh come _on_, Brennan," Angela said in disappointment. "Loosen up a little."

"I told you, Angela, it's for work. It's serious." _And I'm sorry I can't tell you more_, she added silently. At first, she had wanted nothing more than to tell her best friend everything, but for some reason other than the issue of security clearance, she now held back. Cuba had been such a dark time, a time that made her hate herself sometimes for what she done and what had been done to her, and if she could keep Angela from having to know about that, she would. Angela – good, sweet, well-meaning Angela. She deserved a bit of happiness, like the kind she had with Hodgins, that was untainted by the kind of darkness that Brennan found herself constantly surrounded by. She shouldn't have to know about any of that.

_And especially not about Cuba_, she thought to herself. She took out the white shirt again and refolded it.

"Brennan, just because it's for work doesn't mean you can't enjoy yourself a little." Angela continued as she walked back over to the bureau.

"It's not exactly something you enjoy, Ange. We're going to identify mass murder victims."

"I know, sweetie, and that's serious stuff, but all I'm saying is that this trip doesn't have to be entirely about the work or the serous stuff."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, it's not a bad thing to take a vacation every now and then."

"I take vacations. I take them all the time."

"Not with someone else."

"Wha- I went with Russ last summer to Canada."

Angela rolled her eyes. "Someone who isn't your brother."

"What are you saying? I can't take vacations with my brother?"

"No, that's not – never mind. Hey, how warm is it in Cuba right now?"

Confused by the sudden change of subject, Brennan shook her head for a moment before replying, "Um, I think the news said in the nineties?"

Angela grinned cheekily. "Are you bringing a swimsuit?"

Brennan shook her head.

"Well what if you end up working at a beach?"

"I highly doubt it, Angela."

"It's always good to be prepared."

"Ange..."

"_Brennan._"

"Okay fine! I'll bring a swimsuit." Brennan pulled out her old favorite, a modest navy blue one-piece that she had bought while in Spain two years ago. She held it up for Angela to inspect, and much to her dismay, her best friend made a face. "What?" Brennan asked, lifting it up so that she could fold it too.

"Don't you have something slightly less…"

"What?"

"Judy Dench?"

Brennan frowned. "I don't know what that means."

"Matronly?

"What? I like this suit. It's not matronly."

"What happened to the bikini I made you buy last summer?"

"I don't know. It's somewhere."

"You never even wore it!"

"I didn't have an occasion."

"Okay you know what, never mind. Here, give me that; I'll finish up for you."

"Thanks Ange," Brennan said with a little sigh, glad that her friend had given up that subject. She passed the suit over, giving Angela a rare, thankful smile, before going back to her other clothes.

"Oh sweetie, I think you forgot to pack your shampoo."

"What? Oh, thanks. I'll be right back."

"I'll finish up here."

Brennan headed into the bathroom, opening the cabinets to find her travel sized shampoo and conditioner set. As she rummaged through the various lotion bottles and bars of soap, she heard the doorbell ring.

"Ange, can you get that?" she called out from the bathroom, "It's probably Booth!"

"Sure!" Angela yelled back, and a moment later Brennan heard her opening the door of the apartment and saying to Booth, "Well don't you look all ready for a romantic island getaway!"

Brennan groaned inwardly. She could not hear Booth's reply, but she imagined he had probably gone along with Angela's playful teasing. She groaned aloud as she placed her newly found shampoo and conditioner set into the side of the already zipped suitcase. Stopping for only a moment to put on her mother's earrings, she walked out of the bedroom with the suitcase in tow.

Booth was standing by the door, and Brennan's first thought was that Angela had been right. He was wearing a loose white shirt over his signature white tank top, sunglasses, and a pair of khakis that sat at just the right level on his hips.

Brennan blinked. She had been staring. What was she thinking?

"Bones, hey, you ready?" said Booth upon seeing her. She gave him a faint nod, still a little confused by the way her brain was working today. An instant later, she saw his eyebrows furrow in concern, and she realized that he was probably thinking that she was feeling nervous about something else entirely.

"I'm fine," she reassured him hastily, with a meaningful sidelong glance at Angela. "Shall we?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, stepping out of the way so that she could exit the apartment first. Brennan stopped next to Angela, pulling her into a big embrace with enough force that it surprised both of them for a moment.

"Don't forget to water the ones by small window this time," she reminded Angela, who laughed.

"Don't worry. I know better than to forget."

"Thanks Angela."

"Have a good trip, sweetie. And be safe."

"I'm always safe."

Angela gave Booth a look.

"I'll take care of her," he said in response to her unspoken request. Nodding, Angela pulled Brennan into another hug. When they finally let go of one another, Brennan felt Booth's guiding hand on the usual spot on her back as he led her forward and down the hall.

"Just so you know, Muller's out by the car waiting for you," he said into her ear as they headed for the elevator.

"Agent Muller? From the State Department?"

"That's the one."

"Why is someone from State seeing us off to the airport?"

"Because State likes to repeat things in person, Bones," Booth growled. "Plus I think Muller thinks he's more intimidating in real life than over the phone."

"You don't like him, do you?" Brennan had always wondered what it was about certain people that managed to land them on Booth's bad side. Obviously, if they were criminals, they were instantly on that list, but she found herself constantly surprised by the other sorts of people that Booth seemed to instinctively edge away from. Agent Muller was one of those people, and though she knew little about the man, she found herself almost instantly trusting Booth's judgment. After all, he was the people person in their little partnership; she had never been good at that sort of thing.

"You know, I don't like to gossip, Bones, but Muller's got a pretty bad rep for being the kind of guy who likes to shoot a man when he's down."

"So that's why you don't like him?"

"Doesn't sound like my type, no. Plus he claims to know everything there is to know about fieldwork, but for the life of me I don't remember him ever being in a crisis situation himself."

"So he lies about it?"

"Everybody lies, Bones."

They stepped out of her building and reached the sleek black Buick parked out front. Sure enough, Agent Muller was standing by the door with a folder of papers in his hands, waiting.

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth," he said in greeting, his large sunglasses obscuring his eyes from view and making his forehead seem abnormally short. "All packed and ready to go?"

"That depends," Brennan replied before Booth could say anything. "Has my equipment been prepared?"

"Our team picked it all up from your assistants about an hour ago and it's on its way to the plane as we speak."

"Good."

"Dr. Brennan, I just wanted to come by in person to remind you and Agent Booth of the delicacy that this kind of situation requires."

"I'm well aware of what's required, Agent Muller," Brennan replied. She was beginning to see why Booth didn't like him. His voice practically dripped with condescension.

"I'm sure," Muller continued, "But you should know that whether intentionally or not, your conduct while in Cuba is reflective of the view and position of the government of the United States of America."

"I do know that," replied Brennan.

"And as such, I must strongly urge you to keep a cool head should any situations of crisis arise—"

"I know that too."

"—which means, among other things, no shooting clowns for you Agent Booth." He let out a little laugh at his own joke.

Brennan squared her shoulders. The smug grin on Muller's face was not helping to curb her dislike of the man, and that last quip about Booth simply angered her more. To be fair, Booth did have a tendency to punch or shoot people, but no more than _really _necessary, and Brennan was not liking this man's insinuation that neither she nor Booth was well prepared for what they were about to face. A sudden flash of a long-ago memory – _the smell of sulfur and sweat was so strong, and the sparks from the gunfire blinded her eyes_ – brought a fresh burst of anger to the surface.

Behind her, Brennan felt Booth shifting his weight back and forth between his feet as though in anticipation of what she would do next. Either that, or in preparation for what he most likely wanted to do to this little man with mousy brown hair that thought he was so much better than everyone else.

"Have you ever been to Cuba, Agent Muller?" she asked suddenly, placing her hands on her hips.

"Once," Muller replied, smiling. Brennan did not smile back.

"What for?"

"A seminar on world relations."

"I see," Brennan said in the same brusque tone she usually reserved for intrusive reporters. She missed the approving smile that flickered on Booth's lips as she continued. "Well the last time I was in Cuba, I was shot at, drugged, and beaten while digging up the bones of approximately eighty four and a quarter people, all of whom had been chopped up and packed into a mud pit roughly the same depth and width of your car. And while I'm sure that your experience while attending your seminar on world relations was the epitome of a crisis situation, I trust that my experience in these kinds of instances, and for that matter, Agent Booth's experience, far surpasses your own." She glanced down at her watch, and then back up at him again in further annoyance. "And now we're going to be late for our plane if we keep talking to you, and since this is nothing but a waste of time, could you please just hand over whatever you have there and move out of our way?"

Muller's face had turned an odd shade of puce as she spoke. Brennan had a feeling this was the kind of blunt outburst in public that Booth had always warned her against, but she did not care. Some tiny part of her felt a great deal of satisfaction at Muller's complete lack of words in response to her little rant.

"Okay, guess we're done here," Booth said after a moment's pause, when it became apparent that Muller had fallen into a daze. Booth stepped physically between Muller and Brennan as he spoke, and then held out his hand expectantly. Wordlessly, Muller handed over the file he had been carrying, and then he took a step back to let them into the car.

"Have a nice trip," he managed to say, before Booth slammed the car door in his face.

"Now I see why you don't like him," Brennan said, glaring through the dark window back at the man as they drove away.

"Yeah," Booth replied neutrally, and then his face broke into a wide grin.

"What?" Brennan said, suddenly worried. Booth smiling that much usually meant some kind of mischief, and she was not sure she was in the mood for it right now.

"What got into you?" Booth exclaimed, his voice all of a sudden laden with pride and surprise.

Brennan frowned. "He was being a jerk."

"Yeah, but that was amazing. You had him ready to cry uncle at any second."

"I don't know what that means."

"It means you got him to surrender, Bones."

"Why would he surrender – we weren't actually fighting?"

"Oh Bones, forget it. I was just saying your words completely took him down."

"He insulted us, Booth – what was I supposed to do?"

"Bones, I'm on your side here." He gave her another one of his brilliant, pride-filled grins. "I thought you were terrific," he added.

Brennan allowed herself a smile. "Okay then."

"Okay."

There was a moment of silence, and then Brennan, feeling confused, asked, "Why does crying uncle signify surrender?"

"Aw, Bones…"

"What? I want to know."

"Just – never mind."

"What? Booth! Come on!"

"Forget it, Bones."

"Booth!"

"Not listening."

"Okay, now you're just being immature again."

"Lalalala."

"Booth!"

* * *

Thanks for reading! 


	4. Chapter 3: A Dash of Pain

A/N: thanks for the reviews! warning, my spanish may suck a little since it's been awhile since I've studied it. Also, YAY for a new season of Bones -- every new scene just gives me more material for this fic. Hope you all enjoy it!**  
**

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**Chapter Three:  
A Dash of Pain**

It was hard to breathe; that was the first thing Booth noticed as he opened his eyes. At first, he thought that something had fallen on him and was now crushing him to the ground, but as he stirred, he realized the pain was internal; he had broken at least a rib or two, and it was making each breath sting.

He tried not to cough, but the loose particles of dust and dirt in the air made it hard. It was morning; sunlight poured through the tattered remains of the windows of the small shack, unwelcomingly bright against his eyes. Blinking rapidly, he began to push himself up off the floor, his senses coming into focus with each aching move.

"Bones?" he whispered, his eyes darting back and forth. A sudden burst of fear tore at his heart when it seemed as though the room was empty. Then, a slight movement beneath the window closest to him caught his eye. Booth let out the breath he had not realized he had been holding, wincing as he did so and clutching instinctively at his chest.

The sunlight had blinded him to that part of the room, but as his eyes now adjusted, he could see her clearly, sitting with her knees pulled into her chest.

"Bones, you okay?" he asked, crawling over to her as quietly as he could. He noticed that her knuckles were bleeding, and there was a splattering of freshly formed bruises on the edge of her mouth.

"Yes," she replied. He stared at her, noting the tense frame of her shoulders and the unfocused glaze in her eyes. She was not looking at him; rather, she seemed to be staring past him.

"Bones, what-?" he began, turning his head to look, but his voice died almost instantly.

There were three bodies on the ground behind him. He had missed them upon first glance around the room. Two of them had bullet holes in their chests – Booth remembered shooting them as they burst through the doors, bringing his ammo count down to only thirty nine – but the third he did not remember shooting. As he scrutinized the heavyset dead man, he then realized it was the one who had fallen down on them through the roof during the attack. A small but ugly looking knife was still lying in his outstretched hand. But Booth was not focusing on that knife; a much larger one – one he recognized as the blade that Bones had been holding last night – was protruding from the center of the dead man's chest. It looked bizarre, reminding Booth of a pin in a pincushion, for it did not tilt to the side but rather remained steadfastly erect, like a newly inserted flagpole.

Booth glanced back at Bones. A surge of anger flooded his thoughts as he connected the dead man with the newer bruises on her face. A more-than-small part of him reveled in the fact that this bastard had met his match with Bones, but he did not have long to linger on that feeling. A second glance at Bones revealed how disconnected her mind had become, though her eyes were still fixated upon the dead man.

"Bones, hey, Bones, look at me," he said gently but firmly, shaking her out of her trancelike state. He let his thumb rub the skin of her shoulder in what he hoped were calming circles, forcing her to face him. "You're okay," he told her, "you're gonna be okay."

Her eyes, such a vivid blue-green in that instant, cleared after a long moment of searching his, and then he felt her body slack in his grip, her head falling against his shoulder.

"Ow, ow – " The grunts of pain slipped out before he could stop himself. Instantly, she backed away, looking concerned.

"Booth, what happened?"

He winced again as he shifted into a more comfortable spot on the ground, but he flashed her a reassuring smile.

"Just a rib, Bones," he replied. "It's fine."

"Booth, let me see," she said insistently, reaching for the buttons of his shirt. He recognized the all-business tone in her voice – how many times had she ordered him around in that same tone in the lab or even, daringly, in _his_ interrogation room? He felt a glimmer of relief at seeing her acting so strangely normal in spite of the circumstances.

"Bones, it's fine," he repeated, but she was not having it. Her quick and nimble fingers were already peeling away the sweat-soaked layer of fabric. He held his breath as she then began to explore – _no, examine_, he corrected himself – the sides of his torso, her fingertips impossibly soft against his skin.

"Here?" she asked, pressing ever so gently on his right side. He shook his head, and she moved to a different spot, this time on his left. This one got a fierce reaction, and he nearly collapsed against her.

"It's just one," she told him, adding with a worried look, "I think. Can you breathe?"

_No_. "Yes."

She glared at him.

"Well clearly I'm breathing here, Bones."

"Does it hurt?"

"Everything hurts, Bones."

"_Booth."_

"Yes, all right, it hurts when I breathe."

"Well, I'm pretty sure it didn't puncture a lung, but we'll have to bind it and make a sling for your arm."

"Bones, I'm fine. Trust me, I've had worse."

"You could hurt yourself more, Booth," she insisted, sounding annoyed. "Don't be stupid."

"Hey, what's with the name calling?"

"It's an adjective, Booth, not a name."

"_Bones_."

"Besides, now you're being stubborn and stupid, and that's a fact."

"Whoa, Bones, hold on a second here." Now he was starting to get a little annoyed. Unfortunately, considering his side felt as though it were on fire, he was not capable of easily moving out of her reach.

"Just hold still," she instructed, ignoring his protests. She searched the room, and then he saw her gaze linger on the dead men. Before Booth could protest, she had moved to the one she had taken down, lifting the small knife from his lifeless hand. She cut the shirt off the corpse, and then moved back to him, continuing to cut the fabric into long strips.

"Come here," she said, helping him sit up straight. Quickly and expertly, she bound the material around the middle of his torso, taking care to tighten it enough so that he could not shift much at all. Then, after helping him put his shirt back on, she used the last of the dead man's shirt to create a sling for his left arm, finishing it with a slight flourish.

Booth tested the makeshift brace, pushing himself to his feet with some help from Bones.

"Thanks," he said softly. She smiled up at him. Booth let himself have a moment to fully drink in her smile, so like the sunlight pouring in from outside and twice as refreshing, before his mind shifted gears and he snapped back into focus. "We have to keep moving," he told her. She nodded, bending to pick up the gun he had dropped during the attack and placing it in his good hand. At his bidding, she bent to check the dead men for any other weapons. She slipped another gun over Booth's head, and then one over her own, and finally pulled out a small, loaded handgun from a holster around one of the men's ankle and tucking it into the waistband of her pants.

"We good?" he asked as she straightened up.

"Good," she replied readily. He could see the hardness in her expression; the walls she had always relied upon to keep the world out were firmly in place. Now was not the time to think of what had happened or what consequences there would be after this. That very notion presumed that there would _be _an after to this.

_There will be, dammit_, he scolded himself. He had not been lying before; he had been through worse. This time, though, he wasn't wandering through hell alone, but whether that thought comforted or scared him more he could not be sure.

Refusing to think about that any longer, Booth let Bones help him out the door, and together, they continued their journey through the Cuban jungle.

* * *

"_Ésta es la mujer?" _(this is the woman?) 

"_Si." _(yes)

"_La mujer Americana?" _(the American woman?)

"_Si, ella era la que quién identificó los huesos." _(yes, she was the one who identified the bones)

_She was lying on her side on a wooden floor. Her wrists were bound; tightly and twice over, with thick knots that made it impossible for her arms to rest in a comfortable position. The room smelled like a mix between a diner and a latrine, and the distinct scent of cigar smoke permeated the air. Brennan wanted to groan, but somehow even that small sound seemed inescapable from her throat. Her mouth was so dry, her lips bruised and chapped, but she did not care about any of it right now._

_Sam. Where's Sam?_

"_Buenos días__, s__eñorita__."_

_Brennan froze. Footsteps came closer to her head. Suddenly a hand jerked her head up by her hair. A rasping cry escaped her lips._

"_I said, good morning, miss," said the man holding her head. He had a smooth, deep voice with the barest hint of an accent. She could not see his face; the shadows in the darkened room hid his features. Brennan remained silent, but a moment later, he yanked even harder on her hair._

"_You see, when I say something to you, Americana, I expect an answer. Do you understand?"_

_Brennan tested the bonds on her wrists, desperate to push him away, but they were too tight and well tied. She exhaled, though to her own ears it sounded like a dry sob._

"_I won't repeat myself, cariño." He gave a dangerously gentle tug on her hair._

"_Y-yes," Brennan rasped. She instantly hated herself for how haggard her voice sounded._

"_Very good. Now I will ask you some more questions, and I will expect honest answers. Do you understand?"_

"_Yes."_

"_What is your name?"_

"_Roxanne," she said instantly. "Roxanne Scallion."_

_A sudden sharp pull made her cry aloud. Her neck was starting to cramp from the awkward angle. The man holding her up bent so that his lips brushed against her ear as he spoke._

"_Ten cuidado, cariño," he warned her. "I said I expected honest answers."_

"_Please," Brennan gasped. "Please, don't." _

_Her pleas only made him yank harder. _

"_Tell me your name, then."_

_Against her will, Brennan felt tears seeping out of the corners of her eyes. Her neck felt as though it would break at any second. She was breathing hard, her throat growing more and more raw with each inhale and exhale. He yanked again at her hair._

"_It's Temperance!" She cried out finally. "My name is Temperance Brennan!"_

_There was silence for what seemed like ages, and then her unseen interrogator said simply, _"_Of course it is."_

_His voice sounded almost amused. In one swift movement, he slammed her head back down on the ground, and then she heard his footsteps retreating. A moment later, a heavy sounding door slammed shut, plunging the room into complete darkness._

_Brennan rolled onto her back, her neck still tingling and her scalp throbbing with pain. Another dry sob slipped from her lips, and then—_

"So that's Cuba, huh?"

A loud crunching near her face shook Brennan out of her thoughts. She sniffed loudly, instinctively straightening up in her seat as she buried the last lingering remnants of the memory in the back of her mind. She frowned when she realized that the sound had been none other than her partner, the ever-curious Booth, who was leaning over her to stare out the window of the airplane, his mouth full of peanuts.

"What are you doing?" she asked, trying to lean back further as his body loomed over hers.

"Checking out the view, Bones," he told her. His face obscured her own view of the island.

"Booth, will you sit down?" she asked, gesturing at his seat.

"Bones, just a sec," he replied, looking amazed. "Wow, you know I've always wondered how such a tiny little place like this could give the rest of the world so much trouble."

"Well, historically speaking, many of the world's most troubling events originated in smaller, less industrialized countries, especially in Central America, Africa, and-"

"Okay, Bones, enough of the lesson, sheesh."

"Well you said you had wondered, so I was just trying to help."

"And I appreciate it, Bones, but not right now."

She frowned. He was still leaning over her, one arm next to hers and the other over the seat in front of hers, bracing his weight. "You know you should really sit down," she told him. "We're going to land soon."

He waved her off. "Calm down."

"Sir, I'm going to have to ask you to please sit back properly in your seat."

Brennan could not help the smug grin on her face as the flight attendant waited for Booth to follow her orders. A second later, the smile vanished when she realized that Booth was grinning at the attendant, and that the leggy blonde with large, mascara-laden eyes was smiling back and not moving on to any of the other passengers. Booth finally fell back into his seat, and in Brennan's view, took his time to fasten his seat belt, all the while still smiling at the attendant.

Brennan cleared her throat. The flight attendant finally moved away from their seats, leaving Booth with a lingering grin on his face. Brennan rolled her eyes and opened up her latest copy of _The Journal of Forensic Sciences_ with more than a little force.

"What's the matter?" asked Booth upon hearing the sound, looking confused. "You okay?"

"Nothing, I'm fine," she replied noncommittally, her eyes fixed on the page.

"You're fine?"

"Yes, I'm fine. You know, I'm keenly peachy."

"Peachy keen, Bones."

"I said that."

"No, you – never mind."

"You should finish your peanuts."

"Fine, Bones, fine."

"You don't have to be so testy."

"I'm not testy."

"You're not?"

"No, Bones, I'm just peachy keen."

* * *

thanks for reading! review review review!  



	5. Chapter 4: Familiar Faces

**A/N:** Sorry about the delay, everyone! I've been swamped these past 2 weeks and haven't had a chance to post. But here's the next chapter, with more to come asap. Hope you enjoy it, and as always, thank for reading!**  
**

* * *

**Chapter Four:  
Familiar Faces**

"So the hotel's nice."

"Mmm."

"I mean, not that I expected it to be not nice, but you never really know."

"Hmm."

"And wow, that was some breakfast; you know I haven't had fruit like that in a while."

"Mmmhmm."

"You know, Bones, I'm also thinking about waxing my chest and putting on a coconut bra to do the hula – I hear it's quite popular here."

"The hula dance is native to Hawaii, Booth, not Cuba – it was meant to celebrate the goddess Pele."

"So you _are _paying attention to me."

"I'm sitting right here, Booth."

"You haven't said two words to me since we left the hotel."

Brennan sighed. She glanced over at her partner, who was twiddling his thumbs as he sat by her side. She knew he felt odd not driving; his foot was tapping incessantly and every now and then his right hand would glide over the side of the car, as though reassuring himself somehow by the feel of it.

"I'm just…" Brennan searched her brain for the right words, "preparing."

"Did you sleep at all?" She didn't fail to miss the gentle undertones in his voice, which had dropped slightly in volume.

"A few hours," she replied. "You?"

"I might have caught a few more zs than you."

"More what?"

"Never mind, Bones. Look, when we're out there today, you tell me if there's anything that you don't want to deal with, got it?"

"I don't _want_ to deal with any of this, Booth," she replied. She glanced out the tinted window, noting the stares their shiny black car received as it drove through the village streets.

"I know that," he said instantly. "What I meant is that it's day one, and I don't want you pushing yourself too hard too fast."

"I'll be fine," she said, brushing his comment aside and adding matter-of-factly, "I've done this before."

There was a pause, the two of them looking as far away from one another as possible. Brennan sighed again, realizing that her tone had been more severe than she had really intended. She shot a quick glance at him, realizing he still was not looking at her, and added softly, "But thanks."

The smile she received in response to that one word instantly warmed her insides and soothed her nerves, which she had to admit to herself were starting to run amok. She smiled back at him, and then turned to stare out the window once more.

Their car stopped upon entering a gated complex at the edge of the town of San Luisa, a small fishing village near the port of Manzanillo. The gated complex was the home of Cuban special investigations, about a hundred miles to the west of the US Special Forces in Guantanamo Bay. Brennan remembered the gray and dirt-yellow colored building well; it had been like a shining beacon of safety on her last trip here.

How quickly things had changed.

She noticed the heavy military presence on the base, and the increasing number of stares their vehicle elicited from the soldiers stationed outside. Finally, their driver pulled up to the front entrance of the building.

"Here we go," Booth muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the car first. As she climbed out after him, his hand helping her to stand, Brennan noticed his eyes moving rapidly over their surroundings. A small sense of comfort accompanied her realization that he had just scouted the entire area, and his slightly relaxed stance signaled to her that for the moment, everything was fine. She trusted that, knowing that his military background would be crucial should any sort of hostile situation arise.

_But it won't be like that_, she scolded herself mentally as an armed escort led them into the facility and through a series of checkpoints. _This is not like before. _

"Dr. Brennan, Agent Booth, welcome to Cuba."

A tall, thin woman in her early forties with sleek black hair stopped in front of them. Brennan recognized her as their contact, Elena Cruz, whose file she had read on the plane ride over. She was a senior officer within Cuban special investigations, and someone who was known for disliking foreign intervention, especially American. Brennan saw instantly that she was eyeing them both with distrust and distaste, a fact that Booth seemed to pick up on as well. He looked ready for a fight, hovering protectively by her side. _Alpha male_, Brennan thought with a slight roll of her eyes.

"Agent Cruz, are you going to be taking us to the site?" Brennan asked. Cruz shook her head.

"A forensics team and armed escort will be taking you," she told them. "I just wanted to come meet you in person, and to remind you that all decisions regarding the information you may or may not recover must go through me. I do not want you speaking to anyone about your findings without my approval, do you understand?"

"Of course," said Brennan. "You are in charge of this operation."

"Yes, Dr. Brennan, I am. You are on Cuban soil and you are to abide by Cuban law, and I will not tolerate any unauthorized activity in the course of this investigation."

Brennan thought she heard Booth mutter something under his breath at that.

"Of course," Brennan repeated. Cruz eyed her cautiously, clearly unimpressed by her apparent compliance. A moment later, however, she turned swiftly on her heel, saying without looking back, "Follow me."

Brennan exchanged a look with Booth before falling in step behind her. They were led through a series of corridors, moving through the complex towards what Brennan knew to be the back entrance. Finally, they entered into a large hangar containing all sorts of vehicles and large machinery, and at last stopped in front of a group of people dressed in excavation gear. Cruz gave the leader of the group a nod, followed by one last glare at Brennan and Booth, and then walked away. The leader of the group smiled at them as they approached.

"Dr. Brennan…welcome back."

Brennan's mouth fell open.

"_Alejandro_?"

Beside her, Booth cleared his throat. She felt him straighten his stance as he took a small step forward.

"Who's this?" he asked, a slightly hostile tone in his voice. For once, Brennan felt speechless, but the dark haired, smiling man standing across from them seemed utterly comfortable as he approached Booth, speaking in a low, rich voice graced with just the barest hint of an accent.

"Agent Booth, I'm Dr. Alejandro Rodriguez," he said warmly, extending his hand. Brennan noticed that Booth took it hesitantly, but he seemed to grip hard.

"Dr. Rodriguez," Booth repeated, glancing back at her, his hand still tightly holding Alejandro's. "And you're here because..?"

"I am the chief forensic specialist on this case, and an expert on the subject of ritual mass murders and genocide."

"Fun. And you know her…how?"

Brennan glared. Alejandro delicately extricated his fingers from Booth's grasp and replied smoothly, ""We worked together the last time Dr. Brennan visited Cuba."

"Huh." Booth was now staring at Brennan, his piercing gaze causing her skin to tingle.

Alejandro continued to speak. "I will be briefing you on the details and escorting you to the grave site. Our transportation should be ready momentarily, so—"

"They didn't tell me you were on this case," Brennan interrupted. She could not help it. Seeing him brought back a flood of memories, memories that threatened to stun her back into a state of speechlessness at any moment. His brilliant, lively chocolate eyes locked onto hers.

"I am the only person who could do this job for them, Dr. Brennan ," he said quietly. "Except for you, that is." He held her gaze for another moment – a long, confused, intense moment – and then smiled at Booth.

"Please, follow me," he said, gesturing down towards the large hangar doors on the opposite wall. He then turned his attention to his team, directing them in rapid fire Spanish. Brennan felt Booth's hand on her back again, guiding her forward, but this time he pushed with slightly more force than usual.

"So how do you know this guy?" he muttered into her ear as they walked after Alejandro and the others. Brennan shrugged.

"He told you, Booth," she replied noncommittally. "We worked together."

"As far as I recall, the people you worked with last time mostly ended up dead."

"Alejandro was the primary authority on the remains before I got here," Brennan replied. "He had to show me what they had already done and what might have been compromised in the process." She shrugged again, making an effort to keep her voice neutral. "We spent some time together, that's all."

"Some time, huh?"

"I was here for a while, Booth, so yes, 'some time' is the most accurate description I could come up with."

"Uh huh."

"What is that?" She glanced at him quickly before staring after Alejandro, who was speaking to some soldiers up ahead. She guessed that those were their military escorts.

"What?"

"That – that _tone. _ You're being awfully testy."

"I thought we agreed we wouldn't use that word about me anymore."

"Booth, you're being ridiculous."

"Oh come on, Bones, you're telling me that nothing at all happened between you and Mr. 'I'm an expert in ritual mass murders' – and by the way, who _says_ things like that?"

"He_ is_, Booth," Brennan protested. "Alejandro graduated top of his class from the University of Havana and received his medical degree on a full scholarship from Stanford."

"Oh so he's a real doctor?"

"He's a _medical_ doctor," Brennan corrected him with a glare.

"And it's _Alejandro_, huh?"

"That's his name, Booth."

"Apparently."

Brennan sighed. There was no arguing with Booth when he was like this. She had seen him react this way to other people before, and she had never understood it. Granted, he was not normally a very rational person, but there were times when she felt he became so irrationally confrontational and sarcastic that it was all she could to do to keep him in line. Now was one of those times; as Alejandro led them outside to where the two armored jeeps were waiting, each with four more soldiers shouldering large, sleek guns already positioned inside, Booth was strangely silent and seemed to be ignoring her entirely.

Brennan sighed again, climbing into the closest of the jeeps and settling down in the back. Booth trudged in after her, sitting right next to her but looking as though his mind were a million miles away.

The ride into the jungle was eerily silent.

* * *


	6. Chapter 5: La Boca Del Diablo

Hey all, so sorry for the long delay! I've been so busy with life that this story got set on the backburner. But the newest eps of our favorite show has given me tons of good material, so here's a new chapter, and hopefully more to come asap!

As always, thanks for reading! :-)

* * *

**Chapter Five:  
****La Boca Del Diablo**

"How have you been?"

Brennan turned her eyes away from the endless sea of jungle around them, focusing her stare on the smiling, handsome man sitting across from her.

Not that she was one to stare usually, but Alejandro Rodriguez had certainly kept himself in shape all these years. Brennan felt her gaze wander, a bit against her own control, over his physique as she replied in as even a voice as she could, "Fine."

"Just fine?" He smiled again. Despite herself – and despite the fact that she definitely heard Booth next to her make some sort of noise in the back of his throat – she smiled back readily.

"I've been busy," she elaborated. "I started work with the FBI, as you know."

"Yes, with Agent Booth here," Alejandro said. He exchanged a look with Booth, who now seemed to be keenly avoiding the both of them, and then turned his attention back to her. "And your research?"

"I haven't worked on any projects lately," she admitted. "We've been busy."

"Yes, you mentioned that."

Feeling slightly uncomfortable all of a sudden, Brennan cleared her throat. "What about you?" she asked, "How did you get pulled into all of this again?"

Alejandro's smile faded. "As I mentioned, I am the only one who can do this job, other than you of course. I had been giving some free vaccinations in the area, but about a week ago, one of my former patients, Diego, came in with something I could not identify. At first I thought it was a variation of the jungle fever so many of my patients have suffered, but the symptoms were far more deadly. The agent that he was infected with was not contagious, at least, not that I could see, but it acted quickly. He died less than 36 hours after he had come to me." He pause for a moment, then added, "he was only seventeen. Barely a man."

"I'm sorry," Brennan said softly.

"Thank you," Alejandro replied, taking a small breath before continuing. "Before his death, Diego kept talking about something he had seen. I thought he was just hallucinating, talking about death and meeting the devil, but after I performed the autopsy and examined his bones, I grew suspicious. I took a search team into the jungle to a place he had mentioned in his ramblings, and well…"

He paused. It took Brennan a moment to realize that the jungle brush had thinned around them. They were driving up a slight hill, and Alejandro's eyes were hard.

"Diego called it 'La Boca Del Diablo'," he said quietly. "And as you will see, Dr. Brennan, he was not wrong."

The jeeps were slowing. Brennan began to stand. She felt Booth rise up beside her as their jeep came to a complete stop atop a small hill, which overlooked a large clearing in the middle of the jungle.

"What does 'La Boca Del Diablo' mean?" Booth asked.

Brennan gazed out across the clearing. Staring back at her was a large, black, circular formation, at least half a football field in diameter. Within the circle, crude, long branches were arranged into jagged triangles, resembling the canines of some wild animal. Brennan squinted, and then her heart sank further than she would have liked to admit.

What she had mistaken for branches was in fact dozens, perhaps hundreds, of human skeletons, charred black.

_La Boca Del Diablo._

"Bones?" Booth asked again. Brennan swallowed.

"It's the mouth of the Devil," she replied. "That's what it means. He's made the mouth of the Devil again."

"He?"

"Guzman," Brennan replied. She was unable to tear her eyes off the scene for even a moment as she stepped off the jeep and walked to the edge of the hill, Booth at her heels.

"Why do you think it was him?" asked Booth.

"It's his mark," Brennan explained. "He had this fascination with an old fable. He told me about it several times…the last time I was here."

"What's it about?"

"_Let me tell you a story, Americana. You'll enjoy it, I think."_

_Brennan fought back the groan as she felt her head yanked upwards. An instant later, lukewarm water, reeking of sewage, splashed across her face. She blinked, trying to get it out of her eyes, and then her vision cleared as she focused on the man who had been torturing her for days._

_At least, she thought it had been days. She could no longer remember._

"_Do you know of La Boca Del Diablo, __cariño?" he asked her. "Hmm?"_

_A hard slap to her cheek. Sharp pain flared up across her face._

"_Answer me, Dr. Brennan." He paused, and then added with an exaggerated grin, "Please."_

_Her mouth was so dry, so painfully dry, her lips ripping apart, it seemed. She opened them anyway, forced the pain away, and spoke._

"It's about a deal with the Devil," Brennan said. Her voice was dull and emotionless, but inside a storm raged as she remembered the words. Booth was looking at her worriedly, but he waited silently for more.

"On the eve of his death, a powerful sorcerer made a promise to the Devil. He would sacrifice all the innocents of his city, including his own family, to satisfy the Devil's hunger. In exchange, he'd be spared. The Devil agreed, and told him to mark the site of the sacrifice with their bones. The sorcerer did as he promised, and murdered his entire village. He lay out their bodies in a great circle and set them ablaze, sending their souls to the Devil. But the next night, when the bloody sacrifice was over, the Devil came to his door once more."

"Why?" asked Booth. Brennan shut her eyes.

"_What was that, Dr. Brennan?"_

_Brennan swallowed slowly, revolting in the horrible taste in her mouth, and forced herself to look up at him._

"_Why are you doing this?" _

_He laughed. It sounded insane, in this context, and her ever-rational mind reeled in wonder at the absurdity of laughter in this moment. He petted her hair, and though she flinched, she found herself thankful that it was only a mere caress._

"_Because I can, Dr. Brennan. Porque tengo toda la fuerza, y tienes nada. Tienes nada." _

"Bones?"

"What?" she snapped.

"Nothing. You just – you stopped talking all of a sudden."

"I'm sorry. What was I saying?"

"The Devil came back for him?"

"Yes," she replied, gathering her thoughts. "The Devil wanted more souls. So the sorcerer made another deal, and went to the next village, where once again he murdered them all and made the circle of bones. But the Devil still came to his door the night after, still hungry for souls."

"Let me guess, this kept happening?"

"Yes. Until finally, the sorcerer begged the Devil to explain, to tell him when he would have enough. And the Devil laughed and told the man that he had never wanted innocents to begin with. He wanted the one man whose soul was as black as his own, the man who would kill everyone, including his own family, to save himself. Broken and defeated, the sorcerer realized his mistake, and he lay down in the middle of bones of his victims, and the Devil swallowed him whole."

"That's depressing," Booth commented. "And the moral of the story was?"

She gave a half smile. "Don't make a deal with the Devil."

"And this was Guzman's favorite story? Didn't he learn anything from the sorcerer who got duped?"

"Actually, Guzman always related more to the Devil in this story."

Booth let out a low whistle. "He sounds insane."

"He was," confirmed Alejandro, coming up to stand by her side. Brennan frowned.

"What do you mean 'was'?"

"I wanted to tell you in person, Temperance," he said quietly. He was looking down at the clearing, his brows furrowed in concern.

"Tell me what?"

"Guzman is dead," Alejandro said firmly. "There is a new devil among us, Temperance."

* * *

_Present_

They had been walking for hours when Booth stopped to catch his breath, his sides aching from the exertion as he leaned against the large, uprooted half of a rotting tree. Beside him, he felt Brennan relax her muscles, finally letting some of his weight shift off her body as she slid down to the jungle floor. She looked exhausted, the wisps of her hair that had fallen out of her ponytail sticking to the side of her face. He felt a stab of guilt.

"You okay?" he asked. She looked up at him in confusion.

"You're the one with the broken rib," she replied. "Are _you _okay?"

"I can't even feel it anymore," he joked. A second later, he realized his mistake as her eyes widened in concern.

"That's not a good sign," she said, hurrying back to his side again, her fingers nimble as they reached for the makeshift bandages.

"Bones, I'm okay," he protested, trying to catch her hands but flailing a little in the process. "Really, I was kidding."

After several moments, he finally succeeded in grasping her fingers with his, and he pulled her slightly closer. "Temperance," he said, making the rare use of her first name, which he knew would get her to stop, "I'm _fine_. I promise."

She only stared at him, those wide eyes starting to fill. He wasn't sure he would be able to keep the reassuring grin on his face if she actually started to cry now. He gripped her hands harder.

"You could have _died_," she finally said, giving the tiniest of sniffles but refusing to let her tears spill over.

_Attagirl_, he found himself thinking in relief. _Keep strong for me._

"But I didn't," he replied aloud firmly, and then repeated. "I'm fine." As if to emphasize the point further, he pulled their enjoined hands to his chest, letting her feel what he hoped was the steady, strong beat of his heart.

It surprised him a little that this was a perfectly natural thing to do – reassuring Bones, taking care of Bones. It made perfect sense, and her response felt completely right too; she placed her head gently against his shoulder, her breathing evening with his heartbeat.

"Do you really think we'll make it out of this alive?" she whispered. She looked up at him, and he was startled to see no fear in her eyes, merely a resolve and resignation that shook him. He was sure he never wanted to see that expression again in those beautiful orbs; it provoked a level of sadness he did not want to think about. He lifted a hand to stroke her hair.

"Yeah, Bones," he replied. "All we have to do is get to the fence. We'll be safe then. It can't be too far off now, all right?"

"We need to find food soon," she replied. "And drinkable water." Always thinking practically. He almost smiled.

"Yeah, that we do. But we'll be okay, Bones. We'll make it."

He felt her nod against him, and silently prayed that God would not make him a liar.

* * *


	7. Chapter 6: Interlude: A Cuban Experience

Here's the next chapter! Enjoy! As always, thanks for reading, and feedback is greatly appreciated! :-)

* * *

**Chapter Six:  
Interlude: A Cuban Experience**

"For the last time, I need my team."

"And for the last time, Dr. Brennan, it simply is not possible."

Brennan glared angrily at the woman in front of her, whose own dark eyes stared fiercely back at her. Agent Cruz was living up to her reputation for distrusting foreigners and was now getting in Brennan's way, a fact that extremely irked her. The stubborn woman reminded her so much of the Cuban liaison she had worked with before, Catalina Perez, who had pretty much stonewalled her previous investigation and whose disastrous efforts had led in part to–

Brennan almost growled.

"Look, they can get the clearance," she repeated for the third time. "They're completely trustworthy and if my government approves, I don't see what the problem is."

"The problem, Dr. Brennan, is that you are on Cuban soil and this investigation is a Cuban effort. Introducing you and Agent Booth was already a stretch for my government; any more Americans and there will be consequences."

"What – are you threatening me?"

"It's not a threat, Dr. Brennan. It's a statement of fact. You cannot bring your team here."

"They don't have to physically be here – I just need to send some samples back to them!"

"That is out of the question."

Hands on her hips, Brennan paced back and forth around the tent. It and several others had been set up a few days ago by Alejandro's team, on the hill overlooking the site. It had been judged as a safe enough distance away; any actual contact with the bones, on the other hand, required Hazmat gear for the time being. She had spent most of the day catching up with Alejandro on their findings, and while his notes had been impeccable, she knew that she needed the brilliance of her own team more than anything else right now.

And this short woman with the angry eyes was getting in her way.

"Look, Dr. Brennan, I'm sorry, but you'll just have to make do with Dr. Rodriguez' team," Cruz said, arms crossed in front of her. "We can bring you more equipment if you need it, but in terms of personnel, we have to limit the number of people involved in this investigation. And sending anything out of the country is again, simply out of the question."

"Fine," Brennan finally sighed, giving a little wave of her hand as though she could swat the woman away. "I'll go find Alejandro."

"Thank you," said Cruz. "I'll expect each day's report the morning after. Please allow the guards to escort you back to the hotel when you're ready."

"Thank you," Brennan replied, and with a nod, Cruz walked out of the tent.

Brennan took a deep breath, straightening her back. She couldn't help the frown that had settled on her face; Alejandro's team was no doubt competent, but she needed more than mere competence. She needed the best. Much to her frustration, however, it seemed she was on her own for the time being.

"Bones!"

_Well, at least you still have Booth._ That brought a small smile to her lips.

"What is it, Booth?" she asked, turning to face him as he strode in through the open flap. His face had a dull shine to it, the sweat from being out in the sun all day making his white shirt stick to his skin. He wiped at his forehead before speaking. She noticed the large file in his left hand.

"I've been reading the case file from last time over and over," he told her, walking closer. "The psych profile on this guy is just like you described him – absolutely nuts. And it sounds like he's gone deep under the radar before…you really think we're only dealing with a copycat here?"

_Yes. _

_He's gone. _

_Please, let him be gone._

Brennan bit back the wave of memories that threatened to overcome her. When Alejandro had first told her that Guzman was dead, she had been in disbelief. Death was so permanent – it seemed surreal to think that the monster who had held her life in his hands for three days could be gone forever. Just like that. In the few precious moments after the news had hit home, she had dared to think that perhaps now, the memories would fade, and the pain would ebb away.

It only took another mention of his name to bring the flood back. She forcibly shut her mind from it. Booth was still looking at her, expecting an answer.

She nodded.

"Alejandro gave me the file on the body they found," she replied. "It matched Guzman's dental records. Time of death was weeks ago, which means he couldn't have done this."

"You think it was any of these guys?" Booth began to hold up photographs from the file.

Brennan steadied herself by crossing her arms in front of her chest. She gazed at the photos that he was holding in front of her, images of men whose faces she knew far too well.

"It can't be," she said slowly, gazing at each of the seven pictures and shaking her head.

O_rtega…Mercado…Mendoza…Sanchez…Herrera…Alvarado…Montoya._

"_Temperance. Just go! You have to leave now!"_

"_Sam, I'm not leaving you here!" _

"_I'm only going to slow you down. I'll set the fuse, and you get out. Get out, report back – dammit JUST GO!"_

"Bones?"

Brennan shook her head once more. "It's not them, Booth. They're all dead too."

Booth stared at her in confusion, then thumbed through a few pages before staring back up at her. "The file doesn't say that."

_Leaves smacked her cheeks, branches tearing at her skin. Her heart was pounding inside, every breath feeling like someone was stomping on her chest, crushing her lungs down and forcing them back out again. There were voices – men shouting all around. Gunshots, like thunder cracking around her – a FLASH – _

"Trust me. They're all dead."

"Bones, you gotta give me more information here."

"It's not relevant, Booth."

"Bones, of course it's relevant. I need to know what—"

"NO, you don't!" she snapped. An instant later, remorse flooded her at the look on Booth's face.

"Temperance, it's me," he said softly. "Whatever it is, it's me. This is the reason I came, the reason you wanted me here, remember?"

She took a deep breath. "It's not relevant," she repeated, and the hurt in his eyes was clear. Part of her marveled at the fact that though she could rarely tell what other people were feeling, Booth's emotions always seemed as plain as an open book to her. Right now, she thought she would have given anything to take away the pain in his expression.

"It's not the same as last time, Booth," she said, hoping that would explain her reaction. "Guzman's dead. That changes things. We need to get word to the CIA that he's gone, and then figure out what killed these people, and if it's the same organic agent as before. Then we're done. This isn't a four-month assignment; we're supposed to be in and out. Two weeks. That's it."

"Something tells me it's not as simple as that."

"No, it is, Booth," Brennan replied. "Guzman's death changes everything. As much as my feelings for this place might be complicated, our mission here, right now, _is _simple."

He frowned, clearly ready to argue further, but at that moment, Alejandro walked into the tent. Brennan saw Booth visibly straighten up, one hand resting on his holster as he took two quick steps to place himself between her and Alejandro. She walked over, placing a calming hand on Booth's arm to push him slightly back.

"Dr. Brennan," Alejandro said in greeting, and nodded to Booth as he came up to them.

"What is it?" she asked, voice filled with concern. "Have you found something?"

"Please, relax," he said, a smile slipping out. "I just came to tell you that it's seven o'clock. It'll be dark soon and the guards would much rather us return before sunset. Security, you understand. Besides, there is a restaurant I would love to introduce you to this evening, and we'll be late if we stay much longer. If you'll please follow me?"

Brennan sighed. "But what about all of this equipment?" she asked, gesturing around.

"They have men posted around the site, Bones," Booth replied, glancing at Alejandro and adding, "Right?"

"Yes, of course. They rotate every four hours."

"All right," Booth said, placing a hand on Brennan's lower back, "let's go then."

Together they climbed back into the jeeps, guards on either side of them, and as the sky turned from brilliant cerulean to a rosy violet, Brennan looked back to see the campsite, and La Boca Del Diablo, fading from view.

"The restaurant is right by our hotel," Alejandro explained as the jeeps pulled up through the gates of their building.

"Our?" Brennan looked at him in surprise. "Are you staying here too?"

"Well yes, since I actually live about eight hours from here," he replied with a small laugh. "I've been in the same hotel room for weeks now."

"Founds like fun times," Booth commented.

"Not really, Agent Booth," replied Alejandro, "but it looks as though my luck's changing." He flashed Brennan with a devastatingly charming smile, and then added, "Please, let's all get cleaned up and meet in the lobby. Twenty minutes?"

"All right," Brennan replied, smiling back. As she and Booth broke away to the elevator, she could practically hear Booth growling. She glanced at him oddly as they walked into the lift.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Why wouldn't I be?"

"No reason. You just sounded agitated just then."

"Nope, I'm chipper. Peachy keen." His voice was harsh as the doors opened and they began to walk to their rooms, which were side by side at the end of the hall.

"I don't think I like that phrase," Brennan commented.

"Well it doesn't like you either."

She frowned. "It's not possible for a phrase to dislike a person, Booth."

"Bones."

"What?"

He sighed. "Just go change."

Before Brennan could say anything further, he had stepped into his room and closed the door behind him. A few moments later, Brennan could hear his shower start as she pushed open her own door and walked in.

She stripped and headed to the bathroom, and ten glorious minutes later, she stepped out, wrapped in a large fluffy towel and feeling much more refreshed. All thoughts of Guzman were forced to the back of her mind as she rummaged through her open suitcase to find something presentable to wear. She pulled out the simple black dress she had packed in case of something slightly more formal, and then set about trying to find the plain black bra she had brought to go with it. As her fingers came across black lace instead, she made a face.

"Angela!" she exclaimed aloud, shaking her head as she held up the lingerie set her best friend had hidden inside one of her more formal sundresses. She threw it back in the suitcase and set about trying to find her other, more practical black undergarments. After a few more minutes, she threw up her hands in despair – her best friend had definitely made sure the only black bra she had in her possession was the tiny lace concoction she had gotten for her birthday. Realizing that she was running out of time and choices, Brennan sighed, pulled off the towel, and slipped into the lace set, deciding to give it a chance. She then put on the black sleeveless dress, with a tight bodice and a slightly flared knee length skirt. Letting her hair dry naturally around her shoulders, she stopped for a more few moments to put on some light makeup before heading out the door.

She knocked several times on Booth's door, but there was silence in response. Figuring that he had already gone downstairs, she headed for the elevator.

Sure enough, Booth was already in the lobby with Alejandro, and another woman in a lavish red dress that Brennan did not recognize. They turned to face her as she walked toward them, the woman in red standing up from her seat. Brennan saw Alejandro's eyes roam with approval over her figure, and she smiled, turning her gaze then to Booth.

She almost froze midstep. He was staring at her, his eyes never breaking contact with hers as she came closer. There was an intensity there that caught her off guard, and the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"Dr. Brennan, you look fantastic!" Alejandro exclaimed, kissing her cheek.

"Thank you," she replied, and then smiled at the woman in red. "Alejandro, who is your friend?"

"Ah! Forgive me, I forgot to mention she would be joining us tonight. This is Gabriella Mercado, a childhood friend of mine."

"Pleased to meet you," Brennan said, shaking the woman's hand.

"Likewise," Gabriella replied. She had a deep, sultry voice and full, rich red lips.

"Gabriella works for the club where I am taking you," Alejandro explained.

"A club? I thought you said it was a restaurant?"

"It is both," Alejandro replied. "It'll be good for you, and for you too, Agent Booth. The things we have seen today do not solely define my country. Consider this a little taste of Cuban culture while you are here."

Brennan's smile started to fade.

This all felt familiar.

"_Brennan, you need to get out at least once while you're here."_

"_We don't have time for it, Sam."_

"_The case is over, Brennan! Guzman's in custody, and we're on a plane tomorrow back to the States. It's time to celebrate! Come on, there's this club in town that the locals love, and I want to try it before we get out of here."_

"_Sam –"_

"_I won't take no for an answer, Brennan. Come on! I just want a little taste of Cuban culture."_

"Come on, let's go."

Alejandro gestured to where a black car was waiting out front. Gabriella smiled at Brennan, though it was a tight-lipped smile, and then turned with Alejandro to the door.

Brennan hesitated. Her insides were tingling.

_Just a little taste of Cuban culture._

"Hey, Bones, you okay?"

She almost smiled. Her partner seemed to have forgotten that he had been a little irritated with her some twenty minutes earlier and was now looking at her with a look of the utmost concern.

"It's just a restaurant," he continued. "If you're not feeling up to it, we can just tell Alejandro we're staying in. We're not missing anything."

"No," she replied, shaking her head.

_Guzman's dead_.

"You sure?" he asked warily. She noticed that his shoulder muscles were tensely coiled beneath the fabric of his white shirt. She took a breath.

_He's dead. This isn't last time._

She nodded.

"All right," he said, sticking his arm out exaggeratedly for her to take. "Let's go get a taste of Cuba then. For uh, anthropological purposes, of course."

He winked at her, and this time she did smile. She looped her arm through his, feeling comfortable and secure in his grasp, and together they walked toward the swinging main doors.

"By the way," he murmured just above her ear as he guided her with his hand through the doors, "You look beautiful tonight, Bones."

* * *


	8. Chapter 7: Women's Intuition

_Thanks everyone for the reviews! They're seriously what keeps me going with this story -- so keep 'em coming please! :-D Anyhoo, hope you enjoy this chapter. More to come asap, and as always, thanks for reading!_

* * *

**Chapter Seven:  
Women's Intuition**

_Present:_

"Anything yet?"

Booth shook his head. "We're still too deep in. No signal."

Brennan sighed. Booth could see the fatigue written clearly on her face. Her shoulders slumped against her will, and every so often he thought her movements were involuntarily slower than usual.

She was currently setting up a campfire a few feet away from where he lay propped up against a fallen tree trunk. Her body was hunched over as she placed the appropriate twigs and branches together and then set about trying to light it with the two rocks she had found. When the initial spark died pitifully, he saw her frown and pout, and he almost laughed at the childish annoyance she was exhibiting toward the fire, as though it were a failed science experiment.

"You need any help?" he asked, though he wasn't sure he'd be able to move any closer. The pain in his side, as much as he hated to admit it, was catching up with him, and lying still seemed to be the only protection against further agony. Still, he thought he should offer.

"No, I'm fine," she replied sharply. Again, he almost laughed. Her tone of voice was exactly the same as when she'd snap at him in the Jeffersonian for hovering too close to one of her bone samples. He cracked a small grin, letting himself watch her work. It always entertained and awed him to see her like this, completely absorbed in a task as though nothing in the world could tear her away. In the early evening sunset, everything about her was aglow, the sun's last few rays pouring out their warmth to bathe her figure. Her fingers, slender and delicate, were moving with precision as they struck stone against stone, and a wisp of her hair had fallen in front of her face, casting a shadow on her pale skin.

He would have been content to watch her for hours like this, but the reality of the situation sunk in almost viciously when she tilted her head to the side, revealing the still barely healed cuts and bruises marring that pale, beautiful skin. A sudden hatred for the man who had caused all of this seized his heart with a vice grip.

With effort, he shook it away. They needed rest now, and thinking about Guzman was not going to calm him at the least. He forced himself to find the amusement in her actions again, and luckily for him, it wasn't hard as her eighth attempt failed just then. Her lower lip twisted slightly, her nose scrunched up in frustration.

He fought back a grin.

"Bones," he said, reaching towards his pocket with his good arm.

"I'm fine, Booth," she replied sharply, still not looking at him and focused on her task.

"_Bones_," he said again, struggling this time as his arm felt incredibly weak. That got her attention; her head snapped up, eyes full of concern and her task completely forgotten as she rushed over to his side.

"What is it?" she asked, her fingers automatically moving to his bandaged side.

"Nothing about that," he quickly reassured her. "Just – reach into my left side pocket, will ya?"

"Okay…" she said, and gingerly, her hands reached over his torso to his pocket. Had the pain not been enough to dull most of his other senses, Booth was sure he would have felt a shock of electricity course through his system as he felt her hands digging into the fabric of his pants. He almost rolled his eyes at himself. _Really, Seeley? Now's not exactly the best time for this._

He felt her fingers close in around the object he knew was still there, and then her hand and the pressure was gone. He couldn't help the cocky grin on his face as he watched her expression change from concern to confusion to annoyance.

"BOOTH!" she exclaimed, lifting one hand to punch him, but thinking better of it at the last second. _Thank God for that_, he thought, wincing at what he was sure would have been quite a painful blow.

"What?" he said innocently, wanting to keep the lightness between them. This game never got tiring for him.

"You watched me try to make this fire for twenty minutes!"

"Aww Bones, you looked pretty set."

"Twenty minutes, Booth!"

"Well I did try to offer my help," he pointed out, still grinning at her. "You were the one who said you were just fine." He could tell he was pushing the right buttons, and that her logical mind was reluctantly coming to the conclusion that yes, he had offered, and yes, she had refused his help. He waited.

Finally, she sighed, and her lips broke out into a grudging smile.

"You could have said you had matches all along," she said with a slight toss of her head. With that, she marched back over to the fireside and opened up the pack of matches he had been carrying. He saw her freeze for a moment, her fingers hesitating over them. He was about to ask what was wrong when he realized, _of course._ He had gotten the matches from _El Zapato Rojo_, the club they had gone to that night when she had worn that little black dress and had danced with him til the early morning hours. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell her perfume and the light cigar smoke from the restaurant. He could tell she was thinking of the same thing.

"That was a fun night, huh?" he said, smiling at the memory.

"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah it was."

"You still owe me for spilling your drink on me."

"What! You were the one who got me drunk – it's your own fault for not thinking of the consequences of your actions."

"Well I didn't think you'd be a sloppy drunk, Bones!"

"I don't usually consume alcohol in such large quantities. It had an effect."

He grinned, remembering how loose and free she had been on the dance floor.

"Yeah, I'd say. You actually danced."

"I've danced before, Booth."

"Not that like, you haven't," he replied, winking at her. "I think the whole club enjoyed seeing you twirl up on the stage, though I think I might have punched out some guys for staring up your dress while you were doing it. Black lace, Bones?"

For a moment, she looked slightly flustered, shaking her head at herself. He thought he heard her mutter _"Angela"_ under her breath. He grinned even more; he'd had a feeling the sneaky artist had been responsible for some of Bones' clothing choices that week. His head felt a little light as he remembered the day at the beach…

"It was a fun night though," said Bones, jumping Booth out of his thoughts. He fought the blush he knew was creeping up on him.

_That's another hour of confession for when we get back_, he thought. _Wrong place, wrong time for this, Seeley. _He wasn't a fool – this trip had brought all of her past demons to the surface, but it had also brought his deeply buried emotions up along for the ride as well. There was a line, he thought, one they hadn't crossed yet, but he wasn't sure how long he'd be able to keep himself on his side of it. But whatever she meant to him, whatever he wanted to say or thought he should say, now wasn't the time. They had to focus on survival here, on the mission, on making it out of this jungle of hell; anything else felt simply out of place.

_Even love?_

He shook his head at himself. Again, not something he should be thinking about. He had always told her she needed to have more heart than brain; the problem now was that his heart was getting too full to manage. He swallowed down the feelings, the confusion it brought with it, and forced his thoughts clear.

"Booth?" There was worry in her voice again.

Crap, had he been zoning out? He smiled reassuringly at her immediately.

"Just thinking, Bones," he replied. "It just all feels like forever ago."

"It's only been eleven days," she reminded him.

"Yeah, well, a lot's happened in eleven days," he reminded gently back.

She nodded, a sad look on her face as she lit one of the matches and set her campfire successfully ablaze. The flickering flames danced before her, replacing the soft glow from the now distant sun with its own fiery light. Having decided that the fire was satisfactory, she came over to his side.

"We can only stay for a few hours max," he said, as she settled in next to him against the trunk. It seemed too short of a time, but they had to keep moving.

"Just rest," she told him, one hand reaching to lightly caress the side of his face, to calm him. "I'll keep watch."

"No, you need to rest too, Bones," he protested.

"_Booth_," she said firmly. There were sparks in her eyes as she sat up slightly so she was staring right at him, her face inches away. "You've done so much already. Let me do something now. Let me keep watch."

He had a hard time resisting her when she was looking at him like that. He'd always been a sucker for blue eyes, but with the added flecks of green and the soft, haunting glow from the firelight, he was powerless. He nodded slowly, and then gestured to one of the guns by his side. She picked it up expertly.

"Compromise," he said, as he watched her lean back against the trunk. "You wake me up in an hour, deal?"

She looked ready to argue further, but then simply smiled and said, "deal."

"Promise me, Bones."

"Booth-"

"_Bones._"

"Shhh," she replied, caressing his cheek again. "Just close your eyes. I'm here. Just rest."

Finally succumbing to the pain and fatigue riddling his body, Booth let himself drift away to the sound of her whispers and the smooth, calming feel of her skin against his. He felt himself smiling even as the world faded into black.

* * *

"You okay?"

Angela sighed. She knew it would be him. He was the only one who dared to come talk to her these days. Everyone else hid away, unnerved by her dark mood, which was so unlike her. Normally, she'd be glad to see him, but the problem was that even he, Mr. Government-Conspiracy-Guru, was refusing to believe her.

"Angie, come on," he coaxed, coming up behind her to rub her shoulders. She let herself enjoy it for a few seconds, and then pulled away.

"She's in trouble," she said, focusing her gaze on the computer screen in front of her.

"You don't know that," Hodgins replied. His voice sounded thin, as though he too was getting tired of having the same conversation over and over again. Angela frowned; she, on the other hand, was ready to talk about this as many times as she needed in order for her words to sink in.

In order for them to believe her.

"They're three days overdue," she repeated for the umpteenth time. Those words seemed to roll of her tongue so easily now.

"The CIA extended their assignment. They're still needed."

"No." Angela shook her head. "No, Brennan would have said something if she knew she had to stay longer. _Booth_ would have said something. This isn't like them. And I'm sick of everyone pretending like it's okay."

"Angela," Hodgins sighed, spinning her chair around so that she was facing him. He knelt down, grasping her hands with his, his expression trying hard to be supportive, but eyes filled with doubt. "I'm sure they're fine. They'll be back as soon as they're done."

"Cam should have tried harder."

"You don't argue with these guys, Ange," Hodgins replied with a little laugh. "Trust me, when they want to block you out, they can do it. But even Cam's inside guy is telling us everything's fine. Just breathe, and try to relax a little."

"Don't tell me what to do, Jack," she snapped. She hadn't meant to; she regretted it almost instantly upon seeing the look on his face, but she was sick of this. How could he of all people not believe her? This whole trip to Cuba had been strange and secretive from the beginning, but it was the look on Brennan's face the last time they had video chatted that was really gnawing at her.

Brennan had looked worried. Tired, frustrated, and worried. And if Angela was any good at reading people, which she knew she was, her best friend had looked more than a little afraid as well. She had said that nothing was wrong, that everything was being handled, and simply that she couldn't call again for the remainder of the trip. After 3 days past their return date, however, Angela knew something else had to have gone amiss.

"Look, Cam needs you to focus on the Keller case," Hodgins was saying. "But listen, we can talk to her –"

"I don't want to talk to her. I want to talk to Brennan."

"You know that's not possible. The CIA—"

"Since when were you the spokesperson for the CIA? You of all people should be just as suspicious as I am!"

"I am, Angie, but I'm also worried about you. You're taking this conspiracy theory farther than I would, and that worries me a lot."

"I just need to hear from Brennan. I need to have her tell me everything's fine."

"Okay, we'll talk to Muller, he can hook us up from State."

"He wouldn't, and you know it."

"Yeah, true, he is one nasty guy."

"Listen...don't you have a friend who works for the CIA?"

Hodgins frowned, thinking. "Yeah, a college buddy, Greg Sanford."

"Why can't you ask him to look into this?"

"Whoa, Ange, first, I haven't talked to Greg in ages, and second, I'm not sure he even has the clearance for this."

"Jack."

"Angie, I'm up for a mystery as much as the next conspiracy-obsessed guy, but you're really starting to scare me. You're not eating, you're not sleeping, you're not doing so well at work."

"I would if I just could stop worrying about them."

"Angie –"

"Jack. _Please_."

He sighed, and then offered her a small smile as he touched her cheek with his thumb. "Okay. I'll give him a call, okay?"

"Okay."

"How about we grab some lunch now then?"

"Okay," she nodded. As they started to walk to the door, she paused and turned him to look straight at her. "It's not just women's intuition, you know," she said, wanting him, of all people, to believe her. "I know all of you think I'm going crazy, but it's not just women's intuition. She's my best friend, and something there scared her. And I don't care if this is all classified – we shouldn't be leaving her alone like this."

"She's got Booth with her, remember?" he replied easily. "He wouldn't let anything happen."

"Still," Angela said, "Please, please put that amazing brain of yours to work on this? For me?"

He bent in to kiss her, a calming kiss, and then said, "I'll call him right after lunch. Come on."

Sighing, Angela followed him out the door, the feeling of dread still looming above her as she tried to force the pounding questions and thoughts away.

_Keep her safe, Booth. Please keep her safe._

* * *


End file.
